Chop. Chop. Chop.
The rhythmic sound of the knife hitting the wooden cutting board echoed constantly, breaking the silence in the dim corner of the old church. Alfia stood tall in front of a worn-out table that had been repurposed into a kitchen counter. Her slender, pale, and flawless fingers gripped the knife's handle, dicing vegetables with extraordinary mathematical precision. Not a single potato slice varied in thickness; everything was measured by an unerring instinct.
There was a profound, almost painful irony in that quiet scene.
The hands currently mixing broth seasonings were the very same hands that had leveled hills, parted seas of monsters, and taken lives without the slightest hesitation. Those hands were the symbol of despair for Orario's enemies; an absolute weapon of mass destruction born from the cold demands of perfection within the marble palace of the Hera Familia.
Yet now, those hands were merely busy ensuring the soup wasn't too salty for a pregnant mother to consume.
Alfia paused her movements for a moment. Her heterochromatic eyes, usually as sharp and cold as a winter blizzard, shifted to gaze across the room.
On the bed, Meteria was sound asleep. Her younger sister's chest rose and fell in a rhythm so calm, so peaceful. There were no more groans of pain stifled in her throat in the dead of night. No more bloody coughs staining the white bedsheets. The blush of life that should belong to a girl her age slowly returned to grace her cheeks. The disease that had tormented them for sixteen years seemed to have fallen into a deep slumber, wiped away by an impossible gust of wind.
Seeing her sister breathe without pain, Alfia's grip on the knife handle loosened. She let out a long, deep sigh, letting her chest fill with air that no longer felt like it was burning her lungs.
In that silence, dark memories of the past rushed in uninvited. Her mind dissected the bloody path that had forced her to walk from the abyss of death until she arrived at this renovated church.
Since the very first day they opened their eyes to the world, death had stood waiting beside them.
Alfia and Meteria were born with a dense curse flowing through their veins. An incurable congenital disease with no name, no cure, and absolutely no mercy. The greatest healers, the rarest Potions, and even high-tier healing magic were unable to chip it away. The illness was like an invisible parasite, constantly draining their stamina, destroying their vital organs from the inside out, and limiting every second of their time.
However, destiny always had a cruel sense of humor. The same curse, when reacting to a different vessel, yielded completely opposite results.
While the disease gnawed at Meteria's body, causing her to grow into an incredibly fragile girl who spent most of her breaths lying helpless on a mattress, Alfia's body refused to surrender to that verdict. To survive, to ensure her heart kept beating to protect her bedridden sister, the primal instinct within Alfia thrashed wildly.
The very disease killing her actually triggered the awakening of an absolutely terrifying combat talent.
Alfia never experienced the dirty mud of an amateur adventurer's training ground. She never swung a wooden sword thousands of times a day until her palms blistered like other adventurers dreaming of becoming heroes. She was born an anomaly. An absolute genius monster.
Through her innate, law-defying Skill, Gift Blessing, the world in Alfia's eyes moved slower and more transparently. She could dissect a person's magic flow with just a glance, unravel the most complex magical structures, and mimic high-level combat techniques instantly just by seeing them once. All those miracles came at the cost of pain that tore at her veins, accelerating the deterioration of her body's cells every time she unleashed her power on the battlefield.
Goddess Hera, the arrogant deity, saw that deadly brilliance.
Alfia was recruited at a very young age. Almost all her childhood and teenage memories were spent within the marble walls of the Hera Familia palace. That place was not a warm orphanage, but a cold golden cage—an environment full of luxury demanding absolute perfection, a place where your talent was weighed as a commodity for the glory of the goddess.
But Alfia never cared for glory. She hated the cheering. She cared nothing for conquering the Dungeon or the title of hero bestowed upon her by the people. The axis of her life was only one: Meteria.
Because her sister was too weak to see the outside world, Alfia willingly swallowed all her ego and the remnants of her innocence, transforming herself into the deadliest instrument of execution for the Hera Familia. She slaughtered whatever she was ordered to. She destroyed opposing Familias, leveled Dungeon floors, and let her hands be drenched in blood. In return, Meteria received absolute protection from the world's strongest familia, the most elite medical care in Orario, and the drops of Falna that forcibly prolonged her life day by day.
At the age of fifteen, Alfia broke through to Level 7. The Silence. The incarnation of soundless destruction. An entity whose mere aura could make veteran adventurers kneel in terror.
She thought, as long as she continued to be an obedient and useful monster, Meteria would be safe. She believed that the absolute power of the Zeus and Hera Familias was an impenetrable fortress that would protect them from the harshness of the world until the end of their days.
How foolish and naive that thought was.
Everything shattered to dust nearing her sixteenth birthday. A time when the arrogance of the "heroes" blinded their own eyes to the abyss of destruction gaping wide before them.
The Three Grand Quests.
A grand military campaign declared to eliminate three legendary monsters troubling civilization: the Behemoth, the Leviathan, and the One-Eyed Black Dragon. A decision born purely from the absolute hubris of Zeus and Hera. They were so blinded by past victories that they believed the strongest alliance in history could not possibly have limits. Forcing the consecutive subjugation of those three apocalyptic monsters in a short span of time was the greatest blunder, a fatal sin that killed them all.
Alfia squeezed her eyes shut. The air around her seemed to reek again of dried blood and burning ash.
The first hell began with the Behemoth. The ancient land monster radiating a deadly miasma, poisoning every inch of land it stepped on. To defeat the giant monster, Zald, the Level 7 fighter of the Zeus Familia, had to swallow the worst sacrifice. He ate the Behemoth's flesh, letting the apocalyptic poison infect his internal organs and rot his body from the inside out. The Behemoth fell, but Zald lost his future.
Afterward, it was the Hera Familia's mage squad's turn to be deployed amidst a raging ocean storm to challenge the Leviathan. Amidst the ferocious waves, Alfia had to push the limits of her body and soul. She chanted Satanas Verion and Genos Angelus beyond her physical vessel's capacity. The destructive magic successfully tore the Leviathan apart until the sea turned red, but in exchange, the congenital disease in Alfia's body worsened permanently. She coughed up blood, feeling as though her lungs were pierced by thousands of rusty glass needles.
Even though both of their Level 7 executives had to swallow absolute internal damage, the grandeur of the Zeus and Hera Familias had not yet crumbled. The highest-tier Potions and healing magic immediately cleansed every external wound, restored the army's stamina, and swept away their fatigue in an instant. With the giant armada formation restored to one hundred percent, they marched north. Toward the Dragon's Valley.
In the eyes of the world, it was a parade of heroes preparing to conquer the end of days. However, to Alfia, whose instincts continuously screamed warnings of absolute danger, it was a procession of dead men walking slowly toward their own graves.
After successfully subjugating the Behemoth and Leviathan, the arrogance and confidence of the Zeus and Hera Familias reached its peak. They felt there was not a single obstacle in this world impossible to conquer. When they finally marched and challenged the One-Eyed Black Dragon, Orario's strongest army stood there in one hundred percent peak condition. Even Maxim, the Level 8 Captain of the Zeus Familia whose punches could split continental plates, as well as the Level 9 Empress of the Hera Familia, advanced on the front lines with their full power.
However, all that absolute pride shattered to pieces.
The apocalyptic entity before them was a monster whose power was purely beyond reason. The existential gap between them was so absolute, far surpassing even the combined terror of the Behemoth and the Leviathan. The arrogance of those heroes was paid with the heaviest price; the world's strongest army that came challenging with conviction and one hundred percent full power was utterly massacred in the blink of an eye, reduced to nothing more than a pile of dust swallowed by true despair.
And that Black Dragon... that creature was the pure incarnation of the apocalypse itself.
Even to this very second, the echo of its roar still rang clearly in Alfia's ears, as fresh as if the battle had only happened last night. A sound that made the sky crack and the earth scream in terror. That creature resided in a dimension of power completely unreachable by humans. No matter how strong the Falna carved into their backs, no matter how loud they screamed, the dragon annihilated their defensive lines as if they were fragile insects blocking its path.
Black fire swallowed everything, erasing the sunlight. Maxim was killed, crushed into an unrecognizable pile of flesh and armor. The Empress was incinerated; even her screams were swallowed by the roar of the dragon's breath. The executives and high-level adventurers whose names were carved in Orario's history books were slaughtered like weeds scythed down in autumn. Ninety-nine percent of the greatest alliance's main forces perished in mere minutes. Bell's father, the weak, white-haired man from the Zeus Familia whom Alfia had always hated, also died consumed by the same despair.
All that remained was a handful of blood-soaked humans, weeping in terror, crawling away from the valley of death with the shattered remnants of their sanity. Alfia and Zald were among those who survived, dragging themselves back to the city bearing rotting bodies and crushed souls.
As the strongest familias, the throne of "Absolute Rulers" held by the Zeus and Hera Familias for a thousand years, burned to ashes on that exact day.
What followed next, to Alfia, was an indignity far more sickening than the blazing black fire of the Dragon.
Betrayal.
For centuries, the Loki and Freya Familias had been forced to bow beneath the shadow of Zeus and Hera's greatness. They had always been looking for an opening, waiting in silence. Seeing the city's giant protectors return toothless, captainless, and hopeless, those second-rate familias wasted not a single second. Like a pack of starving monsters sniffing the scent of blood from a dying ruler, they launched a massive political coup.
They seized Orario's throne by force, taking advantage of the remaining Zeus and Hera members who were now no more than soulless living zombies. Not because the ruling familias lacked the power to fight back, but because their souls were dead, pulverized by trauma and absolute despair after witnessing the horrors of the Black Dragon. Beneath the shadow of the ancient darkness that had claimed their pillars, the remnants of those legendary adventurers simply didn't care anymore. They let the Loki and Freya Familias seize their properties, strip their titles, and trample on the pride of the heroes who had just returned from hell, because in the eyes of those who had seen the edge of the apocalypse, the politics of power struggles in Orario was nothing but a useless children's joke.
This defeat caused Zeus and Hera's reputation as invincible protectors to crumble in an instant. The shocking failure plunged the people of Orario, who had sheltered under a sense of security for a thousand years, into mass panic and profound frustration.
Remembering the man who impregnated her sister made the vein on Alfia's temple bulge, even to this very second. The foolish, red-eyed, man from the Zeus Familia. A cowardly man who often ran away from monsters, filthy, and entirely unworthy of standing near her pure sister. The man who ultimately died a foolish death along with the alliance in the jaws of the OEBD.
When Alfia first found out that the man dared to touch Meteria and plant his seed, Alfia's sanity snapped. She went berserk. She found the bastard in the headquarters' hallway, beating him without using magic, with only her bare hands. She shattered the man's ribs, battered his face, nearly taking his life on the spot. She would never forgive the filth that dared to defile the only sacred thing in her life.
However, amidst the rain of her blows, Meteria came limping over. Her younger sister sobbed uncontrollably, hugging the bloody man's body, acting as his shield, and begging Alfia to stop. Meteria loved him. And for the sake of seeing Meteria's tears and smile, Alfia swallowed her pride, swallowed her hatred whole. She let the man live, although she always looked away whenever he passed by.
Now the man was gone, charred along with the legend of the Zeus Familia, leaving Meteria as a sickly young widow, carrying a new life in the midst of an uncertain path of exile.
In their final days, before they truly prepared to leave the shadow of the Tower of Babel to seek a remote village to await their death, Meteria begged for one thing. She wanted to visit an abandoned church in the slums. Her secret sanctuary, where she used to pray in silence for Alfia's safety when the Hera Familia was still in its prime.
It was there, among the cracked stone pillars and the age-worn, gaping roof, that their fate, already at the edge of the abyss, was forcibly turned around by an invisible hand.
It was there Alfia met the God of Wind.
That memory was still very fresh, permanently etched into her soul. Alfia remembered how her Level 7 instincts screamed wildly when a green-cloaked youth suddenly appeared in the middle of the church. For a veteran fighter living on bloodshed like her, assessing someone's threat level was as easy as taking a breath. But, when looking at the petite youth with that extraordinarily delicate, androgynous face, Alfia froze completely.
The youth emitted no bloodlust. There was no fluctuation of Mind like an adventurer. Even his Arcanum, when Alfia realized the figure was a god, felt incredibly faint and veiled. To Alfia's senses, the youth felt like "empty air."
An absolute lack of existence.
Such nothingness was not a sign of weakness, but rather the highest anomaly. It signified that the entity before her was far beyond the limits of human comprehension. He was an absolute danger hidden behind an innocent smile. Alfia immediately positioned herself in front of Meteria, her lips beginning to chant the verses of Gospel, ready to blast the foreign god into nothingness and return him to the Tenkai if he dared take a single threatening step.
However, all the ice fortresses Alfia had built since her youth shattered into pieces in mere seconds.
When the youth, who introduced himself as Venti, saw Meteria struggling to breathe, he didn't offer empty sympathy like other gods. Without waiting for anyone's approval, a gentle green wind instantly swirled around Meteria's body. Through that impossible miracle, the fatal damage causing Meteria to cough up blood slowly faded and vanished, replaced by relieved breaths and a blush of life that recovered instantly.
In that second, Alfia's absolute vigilance crumbled, replaced by undeniable awe. The tension in her grip loosened; this youth was not a threat, but a true miracle—a final lifeline for Meteria's life.
But the miracle came packaged with unimaginable madness. When Venti, sitting casually with his legs swinging on the church pew as if hanging out at a tavern, laid out his plan... Alfia felt like the world was mocking her.
Venti lightly declared his plan to challenge the One-Eyed Black Dragon, the apocalyptic monster that had just massacred the world's strongest heroes, solely to free an ancient wind spirit named Aria trapped within it. Alfia realized that her new god was truly insane.
Venti was crazy. He was so poor he couldn't even afford to eat. He had no Familia, no Valis, and seemed far too infatuated with cheap wine.
Yet, behind the goofy smile and overly casual tone, there was an undeniable charisma. An aura of pure "freedom" so strong that it made Alfia's soul, which had been chained by duty, illness, and despair all this time, feel... lightened. For the first time, Alfia didn't feel like a weapon. She felt like a human allowed to rest.
That charisma demolished the remaining arrogance of the Silence. She bowed her head on that dusty floor, placing her trust, her full hope, and the remainder of her life under the god's protection.
The hot steam billowing from the broth pot broke Alfia's long reverie. She blinked, pulling her consciousness back to the quiet reality. Her hands deftly turned off the stove fire, then transferred the fragrant soup into wooden bowls.
Alfia let out a soft sigh while setting their small round table. Remembering that foreign god somehow always made the corners of her lips twitch slightly. In her daily routine since that day of miracles, Alfia had unconsciously rebuilt her identity. She was no longer the Silence who destroyed enemies with a cold glare. She had transformed into a caretaker, an incredibly fierce treasurer, and a highly perfectionist housewife.
She felt obligated to manage everything because her god was completely unreliable when it came to logistics. In Alfia's eyes, Venti was a figure who was too loud, too laid-back, and wine-crazy—always looking for loopholes in her strict supervision just to sneak off to the tavern and spend their grocery money.
However, behind all the endless scolding, cynical attitude, and sharp criticisms toward Venti... there was something else.
A feeling so subtle, flowing silently through the layers of ice in her heart, warming the parts of her soul that had been numb all this time. Alfia hadn't fully realized it, or perhaps she was too rigid to admit, that she was actually starting to like the youth's presence.
She didn't dare give a name to that foreign feeling. But one thing she believed absolutely: behind her flat face, Alfia secretly looked at Venti with profound respect and gratitude.
The poor and goofy god had become her new center of warmth and hope. He had given her something the Hera Familia had failed to realize. Venti gave her peace, healing, and a tomorrow to see her nephew grow up.
Alfia picked up the wooden tray, carrying the bowls of soup over to Meteria's bed, where she was still sound asleep. The corners of the silver-haired woman's lips lifted, forming a small yet incredibly sincere smile.
Outside the walls of this church, Orario could be in turmoil, various Familias could tear each other down to vie for power, and the world could continue to be haunted by the shadow of the dragon. But to Alfia, as long as the youth's wind of freedom continued to shelter them, she cared nothing for any of that.
Within these quiet ruins, the Silence had finally found what the grandeur of the Hera Familia had failed to provide all along: a center of true warmth, and new hope to welcome tomorrow.
------------------------------
"Like my work? Catch up to Chapter 104 over on my Patreon!"
P - Gem_Blanks
Thank you so much for your support — you make all of this worthwhile.)